Ex-Lovers and Foes
by Wendy Pierce
Summary: Upon returning to Kinkow, Brady instantly regrets his decision. {Characters slightly OOC.}
1. Prologue

**Set in Brady's P.O.V. Enjoy! By the way, if you like it so much, I might make it into a full story!**

You turn a corner and run. You're not exactly sure where you're going and why, but you continue. Your feet begin to burn and that pushes you to run faster, harder. Your breath quickens, your patience shortens.

As you jump down the final steps to the staircase, you search the vicinity. And as soon as you do, you realize _she's not here_. You had lost your target back at the stairs and it was almost impossible to catch up. The visual was lost-nowhere to be seen.

You break through the double doors, the salt air greeting you. But, as soon as you leave, you regret it.

There, in the center of it all, where you can clearly see, is the target. You make your way to them, someone else also having the same idea in mind. They embrace the girl in a hug, and then, _oh God_, and then they kiss the target, your lover.

This wasn't a friendship kiss-a kiss on the cheek. But a full lip-to-lip contact. The view causes your stomach to churn in an unpleasant manner and you want to run away, but you can't. Your feet remain planted on the cement floor while you decide what is best. As the two people pull away, you can see both their faces concentrated. On you.

And then you realize that your enemy, your backstabber, is the brother you never got to know.


	2. Chapter 1

**A quick chapter for y'all.**

There, beyond the windows, is a beautiful image of a snowstorm, raging and powerful. The windows are glazed over with frost and as I reach to feel the coolness beneath my warm palm, I come to realization that it isn't snowing. And there are no windows. I step forward into the summer sun only to collide with the concrete floor. A curse escapes my dry lips-I force myself to stand as much as the action displeases me.

"Brady," an angelic voice calls. I don't dare reply. "Brady."

I continue down the dusty old path, hoping, praying, the voices would fade away eventually. They don't.

"Dude," another voice, a new one, calls and I wince. It was _him_. He, of all people, should not be allowed to exchange formalities with me, let alone speak to me. "Talk to her."

"I don't have to answer to anyone of you," I growl, my back turned to the two.

"Please," the girl implores.

My fists tighten until my knuckles turn a faint white. A subtle wind blows, hitting my face like a slap. The sun is too bright, too warm. The situation was far too complicated for me to comprehend; I push it to the back of my mind and shuffle my feet further. It was quiet idiotic for me to wander the streets of the village, seeing as I have no clue as to where I am heading to. But I had to get away. Escape from those two.

A hand grasps my shoulder and my back is soon pressed against a wall. I glance up and note that my attacker was not the tiny girl, but shockingly, him.

I scoff in disgust and turn to the girl, regardless of my current dislike towards her. "Oh wow, Mikayla. Have you gone so low as to allow red-head over here to do all your dirty work for you?"

Her arms fold across her chest. _Classic Mikayla._ "Stop it."

"Stop what?" I act dumbfounded even though I know I had just crossed a territory that I wish didn't. "I'm not the one who sucked faces with-"

"Shut up!" Both teenagers chorus, and I smirk.

"Look, what are you doing here?" It was a simple question, but I decide not to answer properly.

"Is that really how you treat an old friend, an old lover? My dear, sweet, Kayla," I release myself from the other's weak hold and take the girl's hands in mine. "I wanted to see my girl again."

"Well, it doesn't matter now because I'm-"

I cut her off before she can mutter the vile name. "You are mine."

"No, I _was_ yours." She corrects. Her words are as sharp as the weapon hanging from her waist-her machete. "But _you_ left."

"You didn't want me." I retort, resorting to childish behavior in true desperation.

She snorted. "Whatever Candace says doesn't mean I agree. And it was your choice to leave, not mine."

Another stab with her words.

"Ouch, that hurts." I fake the amount of pain that I really feel. Then I chuckle sickly because the conflict was hilarious, despite my hurt feelings.

"You're messed up." The red-head comments and I smile.

"You're related to me." _Even though I wish he wasn't._

They share a look but as soon as they turn back to me, they notice an empty space. Because I was already gone.


	3. Chapter 2

She lies on her stomach, the sun hitting her back. Her beautiful brown eyes wander carelessly around the endless mounds of sand. After a while, her sight lands on a grand palm tree. It blocks her from the harmful rays of the sun, acts like an umbrella. But little did the girl know she had company.

She brushes her hair over her shoulder, a movement so swift, so simple. Her lips pull back to reveal her bright white teeth. And then I cringe because the gesture wasn't for me. But for him.

It was all so ridiculous, I couldn't stand it. Sitting in my tree, admiring the girl I had once fell in love with, was all I could ever ask for. To have it ruined by someone who I didn't know was not.

He smiles back and an audible growl erupts from my throat. I'm not exactly sure where my anger originates from, but I'm more than certain it was because him.

"So you think you've found the right person, Kayla?" I can't help but mutter. "Does he love you? Do you think he'll treat you better than I treated you? He won't love you as much I do."

The wind blows and I'm caught off guard. Two figures trot towered the _lovely_ couple, their familiar outlines startling me. The taller of the two, with his buzz cut hair, his bulging muscles that any guy wishes to have, and his all-too loved weapon hanging from his waist was as intimidating as ever. It was the second figure, however, that made me retreat back into the cover of the trees.

With his confident swagger, his strange outfit choices, and his bright, friendly smile, the figure was easy to recognize anywhere. Boomer was smiling at the couple, as if happy to see something finally worked out well on this island. Maybe it did. But according to me, it didn't. Nothing did.

"My baby girl!" Mason's loud and deep voice booms. "Don't we have news for you!"

Mikayla turns from red-head to her father, a surprisingly grim look on her face. "We do too, Daddy."

"Oh, I'm sure it's not as good as the news we're about to give you," Mason claims.

"You're right, it's not." Red-head says.

Boomer, who is smiling ever so brightly, frowns slightly. "What can be worse than my beach party?"

Mikayla and Red-head exchange similar looks. The Mikayla speaks, "You're beach party sounds fun Boomer, really." She pauses, her eyes lingering around the sand, the ocean, and then finally, the trees. For a fraction of a second, I swear her eyes land on my tree and that I've been spotted. But then she turns back to the three males and continues, "It's just…you might want to sit down for this."

I've been caught. She's found me and she wants to tell Boomer. I want to run, to get further away from the trouble this might cause, but something forces me to stay rooted on the spot-to watch even though I know where this is going.

Boomer shrugs and sits cross-legged on the sand, clearly believing that the new he is about to receive will bring him no harm. Boy is he wrong.

Mikayla stays silent, contemplating her words. Then Red-head speaks for her. "You know Brady, Boomer? Do you remember him?"

Boomer curls his fists, his smile gone. "You mean back-stabber Brady? The same Brady who left all because he wasn't "mature" enough for the island? Brady, who left because he couldn't get his feelings straight for a girl? Yeah, I don't miss that idiot."

Even though I am not a part of that conversation, I have to agree. I'm very dumb for leaving the island, the people-my brother. Boomer's words are like a blow to the face. And I deserve it. Every bit of it.

"Well," Mikayla finally says. "Have you seen him? Is he back on the island?"

Mikayla knows the answers to her questions, but I'm pretty sure she's testing the waters.

"If he shows his face, he's dead to me." Boomer says, the anger growing stronger in his voice. And I wouldn't blame him. "Why do you ask, anyway?"

"Because he's back, Boomer. He's back on Kinkow. Boz and I saw him."

Boomer stands up so suddenly that Mikayla jumps back. "Then call the guards. Tell them they have a hunting tonight." He turns to Mikayla, the hatred burning even stronger in his voice. "And if you see him again, tell him that I'll be waiting."

Boomer marches away and I take it as my cue. I jump down from my tree, landing a little harder than I'd expect.

"There he is!" Someone screams and I turn a brief second to see all four people looking. At me.

Then my feet are moving and I find myself running further and further away from not the people who love me, but from the people who are most likely to kill me.


	4. YOU 1

You run as fast as you can, never once stopping for breath. The footsteps behind you don't fade and that pushes you to run harder. You can hear the pounding of your chasers' footsteps match the beat of your heart.

You're scared. For once in your eighteen years of living, you're _actually_ scared.

Probably because you know that the people hunting you aren't there to take you home-they're there to imprison you. To take you back to that no good place, to lock you up, and to force you to endure the punishment you _know_ you deserve.

Oh, but you won't let them.

You run further into the jungle, praying the canopy of the trees will somehow provide a cover. Soon enough, you realize that as brilliant as the jungle is for a hiding spot, you don't belong there.

Neither do you belong to the cold stone walls of what you like to call a prison, but something forces you to move in that general direction.

You don't have to run. You don't have to hide.

But it's all because of _her_ you can't show your face anymore.

And she's going to pay.


	5. Chapter 3

**I'm shockingly proud of this chapter. Hope you enjoy it too.**

I run down the all too familiar path, my feet hopefully carrying me further away from my pursuers. The pebble stone path crunches beneath my sneakers and I dive behind a rock for hiding. I peer out a minute later, praying that the guards are mislead.

My heart beats quickly. My breath is shallow. And I realize that I might not be able to evade capture if I keep running.

It is stupid, of course, to return to a place I don't want to be at anymore. This isn't home. It might have been when I was younger, but now that place is nothing but a prison. A prison that unleashes the worst of memories, the reason that I stay up at night with the lights on. Coming back only makes those memories more vivid, and causes the wounds that just healed to re-open and bleed. Bleed until there is nothing left, bleed until I become nothing but a lifeless body.

So, that's how I find myself standing before the gates of the castle. I might as well turn myself in and end this madness. But desperation leads to one thing or another, and apparently it leads me to scaling the walls of the ancient castle. It seems so unbelievably simple; I want to laugh. But I don't because attention is the last thing I need.

I place my foot on a loose stone jutting out from the wall and lift myself with the ease and strength I didn't know I have. With the guards oblivious to their refugee's escape, I manage to make it to the other side of the wall untouched and unnoticed.

_Oh, how easy it is to make an escape when your foolish brother sent out** all** of the guards to capture you rather than just a few._ I laugh at the thought, believing myself to be the funniest person I know. And I might just be.

Here's the thing about the royal guards: You can send them out to do any job you want them to do. Any at all. Will they do it? Maybe not right away, but at least they'll try to get it done.

That explains why I got into the castle without any trouble.

Due to the fact that I so obviously can't walk in through the front doors, I'm forced to think of an alternative route. I run around the perimeter of the castle multiple of times before I spot an entrance: an open open window on the second floor. It isn't too far; it's within my reach, only a few feet higher so I grasp the window sill and lift myself.

Before I can even enter the room, I push my head through the (thankfully) wide enough window and scan the area. It leads to a vacant hallway. _Perfect_, I smirk inwardly.

Now, I'm not exactly sure how spies in the movies will do it, but I'm more than certain it would've been a lot more smoother and professional then what I did.

I push myself head first through the window. Apparently, I've underestimated the size of the window. Just because my head fits, doesn't necessarily mean my entire body will, too. I slide into the hallway until my hands reach the cold, hard ground. That's when the window decides to come down. And catch me at my waist. And somehow manages to trap me.

Boy do I feel bad for whoever's standing on the outside, wondering why they see half of a body.

Okay, in retrospect, maybe climbing through the window isn't the brightest idea I've had and I've had plenty of dumb ideas before. So I'm stuck in the window, wiggling like a worm to escape. I look stupid, really stupid, but it helps and I land on the floor. I lay on the floor for a few moments, only retreating to a corner when I hear footsteps.

And then I hear their voices.

"Daddy, are you sure the guards are going to get Brady and bring him back?" Mikayla's voice questions and I have to fight back the temptation to jump out and reveal myself. Not now, not yet.

"I'm sure, baby girl," Mason's deep voice echoes in the empty hallway and I cringe. He might be a few feet away from me, but his voice is enough to scare the living day lights out of me. "Brady can't get too far; remember how he needed a map just to find the village and even then he got lost?"

I expect Mikayla to laugh, to agree with her father's statement but she doesn't. Surprisingly, she defends me, "Daddy, that was Boz last week, not Brady. Boz is new to the island, so of course he would get lost easily."

Mason mutters something under his breath, and I'm only able to make out the words "your boyfriend" and something about the redhead being treated too "unfairly" for his liking.

Is it possible that Mason shares the same view as me on the redhead? Not wanting to get my hopes up, I stay in my corner. It isn't until I hear Mikayla screaming, "You just don't understand!" and footsteps retreating in two different directions that I come out of hiding.

The overheard conversation replays in my head and I have to ask myself: What exactly is the reason Mikayla went after the redhead if she doesn't seem entirely happy with him?

Remembering my current dislike towards the girl, seeing as she _and _the redhead are the reason I had to run for my life from the guards for the past hour (possibly even longer, judging by the setting of the sun outside), I feel no remorse for her. Anger surges through my veins and I find myself walking down the path to her room.

She's the reason I came back, the reason I have gotten in trouble for. And, as I've promised myself, she_ is_ going to pay, whether she likes it or not.

The door to her room is open and I slip inside. There she is, beautiful and smart and amazing, sitting in the corner of her room, at her desk, her back to me. Wanting to make my presence known, I casually lean against the wall opposite to her and say, "Hello, Kayla."

The girl jumps out of her seat and turns to me. She is silent for a long time before she walks forward. "What're you doing here?"

Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, it's almost as if she believes if she speaks any louder, she might get caught. And is she right to do that.

I laugh, walking until the distance between us shortens. She takes a step back, I take another step forward. I tuck a strand of gorgeous brown hair behind her ear and whisper, "What do you think?"

Mikayla must have understood because her hands are on my chest and she pushes me backwards until I land on her bed. "You're crazy, Brady. This isn't you."

I clench my fists, fighting back a retort. _What does she know? She hasn't cared enough to know who you really are. Or was, at least._ The anger I feel pulses even stronger now, controlling my actions, my words-me. Before Mikayla realizes it, before even _I_ realize it, she's pinned to the wall, her hands enclosed in my tight grip, our bodies so close that there is no space left.

"Tell me, Mikayla," I whisper, my voice surprisingly calm for my sour mood. "Who am I?"

Before the girl can answer, the door is thrown open. I'm thrown to the floor by an unknown force. I briefly hear voices scream "Brady!"

And then I'm engulfed by darkness.


	6. Chapter 4

A silhouette of a person stands before me. She turns, and for a moment our eyes make contact. I take the time to analyze her: she is slender, with curves that drive any man mad. Her dress flatters her curves and I'm suddenly aware of the fact that I'm drooling. My attention shifts to her head. She's beautiful with long brown hair that falls like curtains around her face. Her face, perhaps the most breathtaking part of her, would be attractive-only if her features aren't clouded with fear. Fear of what, I'm not sure.

I reach out to help the beauty but before my fingers can brush against her smooth, delicate cheek, she's gone. Running further away from the trouble she might face, running from me. I find myself chasing after her, wanting to help her. She turns and dashes down a corridor and I follow her. The area is vacant and dark, so dark that I can't see where I'm going and my body slams against something hard. I look up to find that the girl is gone, never to be found again. And then I'm forced back into reality.

White dots dance before my eyes. My vision is blurred, but I don't need good eyesight to know that the room I am in is dimly lit and cold-very cold. A shiver runs down my back and it's almost as if a presence is behind me. I turn my head slightly, and find the stone walls of the castle surrounding me. All except one wall is stone, and that is the bars that prevent me from my freedom.

An audible growl escapes my lips. Here I am, back in the place I don't want to be at. Being here is already bad enough, but to be locked up in a cell for what might be the rest of my life is much, much worse. I try to stand, to stretch-to do _anything_ but sit and that's when I find my arms to be cuffed and chained above my head. As if this jail cell isn't enough, Boomer believes that chains will certainly hold me back from escaping.

And did I mention the guards?

Outside my _prison_, there are at least six guards trained at the door of my cell: three leaning against the cell, and the other three standing by the wall opposite of me.

I yell and struggle in frustration but they turn a deaf ear upon me. _Why, don't I feel brilliant? _

I don't have to be here. I can be outside, doing whatever I please, hiding far away from this nightmare. But I am here, and there is no one I know who is willing to break me out, so I'm alone.

Footsteps echo down the hall, pulling me from my thoughts. Whoever may the footsteps belong to, I know that they will only bring me trouble. It isn't until I see a grimly looking Boomer that I conclude my thoughts to be correct.

"You know, Mason's not happy with you-finding you in Mikayla's room and all." His voice is filled with humor, yet his emotionless features prove that he doesn't believe this to be a laughing matter. "What were you doing there anyway?"

And then I remember-me, running away from the guards, only to come back to the castle to give Mikayla the treatment I think she so greatly deserves. I stupidly thought that I could make her pay for what she's done to me (revealing my being back at the island and then allowing my brother to send the guards after me) by going to the only place I could be found in. I say a round of applause to my own stupidity (note the sarcasm).

My anger towards the girl hasn't faded and I feel it boiling up inside of me, wanting to be released. _What was I doing there, in her room?_ I was going to get my payback on her, no matter how innocent one might think she is in this case! But can I tell this to Boomer? No, because it's already bad enough both Boomer _and_ Mason want to strangle me-both for different reasons, I'm sure-so why should I give them another reason to do so?

I decide to play it safe and give him the answer he wants to hear, "I wanted to see her."

Boomer throws his head back and laughs a fake, mocking laugh. "Yeah, right!" It is obvious he isn't convinced. "You didn't only 'want to see her'. I saw the way you were holding her! You wanted more out of her. What? Did you think that she was going to leave Boz for you? That she never loved Boz and still loved you!"

Even though the words hurt more than they should, I am not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he is not wrong. But my patience runs out and I find myself saying, "Yes! Okay, yes!" This causes Boomer to smile. I turn my head in shame and mutter, "Now that you've got me, what do you want?"

"You have to go to trial," He says simply. "There, we'll know whether or not you can stay on the island."

The chains above my head rattle as I bring my arms forward, only to have them retract backwards and hit the wall. Boomer is lucky there are restraints and a cell holding me back from striking at him. I don't want to go to trial! Last time Boomer and I were there, we were accused of burning down the castle when, in the end, it was the stupid bird's fault. And now I'm in the same situation, except there's no one to defend me, thus making it an unfair trial. But, if it's my last chance of seeing Mikayla and making amends with Boomer, I'll go.

"When is it?" I can't help but ask.

"Tonight," He informs. He leans forward, his fingers gripping onto the cell bars. "But I don't want you playing innocent when we both know you're anything but that."

So, he wants a fair trial. If that's what he wants, then that's what he's getting. "I won't play innocent."

Boomer's grip on the bars tightens, and the look on his face shows he won't take any more of my nonsense. "We'll see about that tonight."

And with that, he dismisses himself, leaving me to feel empty in my dark cage.


	7. YOU 2

Just when you think the emptiness couldn't get any bigger, a dark coldness overcomes you. You shiver, the feeling unusual and different. Different...in a strangely pleasant way. Perhaps it is the room that makes you feel in such a way. Or can it be the solitude you are left in? Being left in silence does cause a person to have such odd feelings and thoughts after all. It allows one to explore the parts of their minds they have not yet seen.

That's not always a good thing.

But in your case, it's a _wonderful_ thing.

It pumps your blood, excites you, with the things you had not previously known of.

You know you're innocent.

You know your purpose.

And you know that a certain red-head and rather beautiful brunette are about to get a taste of revenge. Maybe the idea of revenge is too much but you can't help but feel like it's the right thing to do.

_She _did hurt you anyway.

But then again, you love her and she loves you.

At least she _did._

You want to follow through with your plan but notice a slight problem: You're not free.

You're imprisoned, waiting for your doom that is only minutes away.

As soon as two guards open the prison door, unchain you, and drag you to your awaiting trial, only one thought is on your mind-

_It's show time._


	8. Chapter 5

The only thing I hear-or chose to hear-as the guards drag me towards my doom is the crunching of pebbles beneath my feet. The sound is pleasant, compared to the roaring of the crowd up ahead. The noise is boisterous and unsettling, giving me the strong desire to turn and run again. The people gathered for the event are screaming such profanities I'd rather not repeat. Who knew people of Kinkow have strong language?

I freeze on the spot, willing myself to disappear because it is all so overwhelming. The people are biased and angry. This is an argument I'll never win.

There is a harsh tug on my arms and I'm forced forward by the guards that flank my sides.

Even the dim-witted, gullible guards seem to hate me.

Lovely. That is just what I need; even more people to hate me.

One can think that once I stepped into the scene everything calmed down, right? Wrong.

When the people gathered for the event get so much as a peek at my face, they're up and out of their seats, rushing towards me whilst making rude gestures with their hands and words of hatred rolling off their tongues and hanging in the air. This should bother me, but it doesn't. A group of guards come up out of nowhere and force the people back to their forgotten seats. I'm surprised the guards remembered they have a job to do.

My mood brightens, even if it's for the slightest of moments. And then my eyes land _them_ and suddenly the cold, bitter feeling of hurt and betrayal returns.

I shiver but it has nothing to do with the warm weather. I watch as he smiles at her-so broadly, so freely-that all I want to do is change that. Then she smiles back and leans against him like she's used to it, and that's when I really want to interfere.

_You love each other?  
Truly or just for the sake of it?_

Just as these thoughts pervade my mind, a not so kind shove pushes me forward and I move, though unwillingly. My seat is slab of rock cut unevenly, cold and hard. Then I find myself reminiscing the past, remembering the trial on another day for a different reason and on a different night. That one, I got lucky. This one, I'll be fortunate enough if my reasoning ("She's mine and nobody else's.") and the people's stupidity (I do mean that in the most endearing way possible) get me the title of innocent. But I can only hope for so much.

The Shaman walks up to the podium with his robes on and the chaos that is the crowd comes to an end-for now, at least. His robes are traditional and funny looking but I don't laugh because everything is no longer funny to me. I shift my gaze to Mason's cold hard one, never regretting my decision to look at the only man on the island who will most likely get their hands on me first and skewer me. At this point, I actually don't mind.

"Let's begin," The shaman's low and raspy voice says, pulling my attention away from the Sasquatch guard. "The court knows that King Brady-the runaway buffoon who disappointed his people"-he cuts me a look, one that says he's sorry for calling me the name he's using, but I know he's not sorry-"has returned to the island. The only known reason for his returning is the Sasquatch girl and some silly love. The previous King has been convicted with the crime of escaping imprisonment, of breaking and entering into the castle."

Once the Shaman finishes, the crowd roars in anger, and throws the nearest item they can get their hands on-which both fortunately and unfortunately included coconuts and…are those someone's shoes? God, people are desperate to murder me.

"Speak, and tell the people why you did what you did."

It takes me a few moments, but I realize that the Shaman is talking and he is talking to me. I remember how he can't convict me of anything until I prove myself innocent. So, true to Boomer's words, I don't lie when I say, "What else is there to say? I came back, went for Mikayla, found that was no use and went on a mad rampage. Then I did escape the guards and broke into the castle-which, wouldn't have happened if Boomer hadn't decided to send _all_ of the guards after me. I woke up in the dungeon and now I'm here."

"Why were you found in Makoola's room?" asks one of the members of the jury. They can actually ask decent questions? I'm surprised.

My eyes cut to the aforementioned girl, and I glare at her. Mikayla doesn't look away but looks straight at me, her eyes challenging and her posture confident. But she's worried about me, worried with the fact that if I answer the question I'll lose it again-much like I did in her room the other day-and she's obviously trying her best to hide her concern.

She's smart for thinking so.

Once that question has sunk in, a rich silence overcomes the people but it isn't a comfortable one. Yet, the tension doesn't prevent me from saying, "Why else would I be there?"

"Answer the question!" This comes from Boomer and when I meet his gaze, there's nothing but fire burning in his eyes. I didn't answer it the way he wants me to.

Heaving a sigh, I turn back to the jury and state in an oddly calm matter, "I wanted to talk to her-that's all."

"Yeah right," Mason mumbles loudly, gaining the jury's attention.

And as if the crowd doesn't believe a word anybody is saying, they pull out a stone, the same one used for mine and Boomer's last trial, and urge Mason to place his hand on it to show the truth. At first I think, _everybody's lost their minds_. But when the scene I remember so well-me pressing Mikayla against the wall, someone pulling me away from her, my name being called, and the darkness that soon consumed me-plays on the screen conveniently hung up behind the Shaman's platform, and everyone is giving me different looks, I realize that _I'm the one who lost it_.

"If you dare lie in this case," The Shaman warns me, his voice low but not very threatening, "you may as well spend the rest of your life in the dungeon."

"I'm being as honest as I can," I sneer back.

Within the next second, the stone Mason used is forced in my direction, everyone looking at me with interest, confusion, anger, and other emotions I can't name.

"If you're 'being honest,' then prove it," The Shaman matches the tone I used on him. He wants me to show everyone how I saw things, which is difficult for me because 1) Why would I? And 2) how in the world can I possibly touch the stupid rock when my hands are tied behind my back?

"I would but"-I shake my hands violently to bring his attention to the small problem-"I really can't."

Groaning, the Shaman gestures to the guards that surround me to release me from my bonds. They do so, and the Shaman says, "Just don't do anything stupid."

I place my hand on the rock, feeling its smooth and cool surface beneath my palm. I smile up at the Shaman, and compared to the other smiles I've been giving now-a-days, this one was almost genuine. _Almost._ "No promises."

The screen behind the Shaman comes to life again, but the scene in this one doesn't take place in Mikayla's room. Instead, it starts in the village. It's a pitch black night, with no moon looming overhead. The clouds aren't even in the sky that night. The only light source comes from the houses, but even they aren't bright enough. Everything is peaceful. It's a quite night, everyone is in a good mood and everything is well.

Then there's screaming.

"What do I have to do to satisfy you?" I hear my voice, but I am nowhere on the screen. "Become more like your dad?"

The scene shifts abruptly from the village to a beautiful brunette. Mikayla. She doesn't look very happy. Her features display a mix of anger, frustration, and annoyance. "You don't have to be like my dad."

"But I have to be like Superman or something to be your man."

"I didn't say you had to copy anyone to impress me." Mikayla's voice is calm and even, but her face is a mix of unsaid emotions.

"Candace said-"

"You believe what that girl says?" Mikayla questions, crossing her arms over her chest. "Brady, Candace lies. Her job is to tell and spread silly little rumors. You can't actually believe half the things she says." There's a moment of silence, and I don't need to look to know that she realized something. "_My God, Brady._ You do believe her."

"So what if I do?" My voice is rough and strong. "Now I know that I don't qualify as your boyfriend."

"Brady, it's not true!" Mikayla waves her hands wildly as if she needs me to see her perspective, to understand what she's saying. I never have, and I probably never will. "I don't want a boy who is the embodiment of some superhero. I want you for you and you don't need to be like anyone but yourself."

I snort in disgust. "Then what do I have to do, Kayla? Believe what you're telling me is right? That you actually love me and you don't wish for anyone else?"

Off screen, the current Mikayla is turned away from the crowd, from me. On the screen, Mikayla sighs and places her hand on her head as if this is giving her a headache. "Stop being so irrational and listen to me."

The screen goes blank for a moment and I know it's because I don't want people to see what happened next. Yelling. Cursing. Crying. A useless banter. So many negative emotions between only two people. The screen comes on again, and there stands Mikayla, her eyes wide and red.

"Don't walk away," she whispers, her voice soft. That's exactly what I did and kept doing every time something became too much for me to handle. I tried running away from the past, from Mikayla, from everyone and everything-from my problems. I'd get too caught up in the moment and my emotions that I tried to hide it. So I ran further and further away.

But that's stupid because you can run as far and long as you want but the problems will keep piling up higher and higher. The problems won't be gone. They'll be right there like a tsunami looming over your head, just waiting for the right moment to take you in its massive wave and drown you. You can't pretend they don't exist.

So I stopped doing that. Or attempted to, at least. But what I got was every single last person against me, and a likely chance of jail time just because I wanted to make amends. Things don't always go the way I think they will.

The scene changes and shows the events that went down ever since I returned. All but one is shown and I know exactly what it is: the kiss shared between the redhead and Mikayla. When the screen goes blank again and I'm sure everyone has seen more enough, I take my hand off the rock and place it by my side.

Everybody is quiet but for once, there is a nice kind of quiet.

"Am I telling the truth now?" I ask not only the Shaman, but Mason, Boomer, Mikayla-everyone-as well.

The Shaman says nothing whilst staring at me blankly. A jury member asks him if the jury can come to a conclusion, and the Shaman, still not speaking, gives them approval by waving his hand. The jury goes to a private room or something-I don't know where exactly but they get up and they go somewhere. They don't return for another thirty something minutes, their verdict ready.

A mermaid-seriously, who appoints these people?-holds up a paper and says, "The jury has come to the conclusion that Brady Parker is-"

"Innocent!" a different voice calls and all attention is turned to the one who said it.

Mikayla Makoola.


	9. Chapter 6

**What's this? Another update in 24 hours? The world must have gone mad! **

**One more chapter and that's the end for this story. Fair warning, though: Due to school and work, it most likely won't be updated until next Saturday or Sunday.  
**

* * *

The silence that follows is the strongest and longest I've ever encountered. No one says anything, only staring at the person who last spoke. The person who probably took the breath out of everyone in that court, including me. But she doesn't look as if her words bothered her. No, she meant to say it and she meant to say that exact word.

Mikayla Makoola is pleading for my innocence, and I'm more than just shocked.

I'm surprised she spoke up, angry that she thinks she can do so, and at the same time, I'm grateful that someone is on my side, even if I don't know the reason why.

"What makes you think so, Sasquatch offspring?" The Shaman asks her, brining everyone out of their thoughts.

Mikayla doesn't back down from the Shaman's challenging look. She steps forward, just about ready to prove her point, but the mermaid from the jury cries, "Seriously people! Can I, like, read the stupid verdant or whatever you call it? I want to go home so, like, let me finish!"

The Shaman nods and mumbles a small "yes," but his attention is still focused on Mikayla. Who in the area isn't focused on the guard girl?

"Brady Parker was found guilty." Once that is said, the mermaid shoves the paper in the direction of another jury member, a pirate, and calls the guards to carry her home. The guards don't listen.

They don't even know it is the mermaid who spoke because they, like everyone else, was watching the dramatic show called That's My Messed up Life, unfold right before their eyes. I can't blame them for liking it.

The only people affected by the reading of the verdict are the crowd. They rise from their seats, raise their arms high over their heads, and began to cry in joy because _Brady Parker is guilty, meaning they won't have to deal with him._

But they are so wrong.

Mikayla whistles loudly and the crowd stops. "It's not over," she tells them.

The crowd, now disappointed and angry, plops back down in their respective seats and listen, though unwillingly. Some look like they've regretted their decision of coming.

Mikayla turns back to the Shaman, and Mikayla begins speaking again until the Shaman interrupts her this time, "Don't think you can defend him," He says honestly, "The verdict has been decided-no changing it. You can plea all you want offspring, but what's said is said."

The Shaman turns to the crowd and continues, "Brady Parker will remain in the dungeon until the age of twenty-five. He will not be allowed to re-gain the position of King ever again, for he has committed a crime so great. Once he is freed after seven years, he has the option of remaining on Kinkow and living in the village among lower class people,"-the crowd roared in rage at that-"or returning home to Chicago and never showing his face here again."

"But that's not fair!" Mikayla argues. "Sure the ex-Co-King did a lot of stupid things and he broke the law but isn't seven years a bit unreasonable?"

Mikayla lets her words hang in the air for a while before going on, "Brady only acted out of emotions. He was angry, frustrated, and scared. When people let their emotions control them, they lose it. That's exactly what happened with Brady over here. He didn't know how to cope with the sudden changes that it caused him to feel anger towards everyone, towards me." She looks at me as if she's truly sorry, and I know that she isn't faking it. She actually means the words she's saying.

"People act irrational all the time-including me. All the things Brady did-running away, breaking and entering-it was because he was too troubled by the emotions." Mikayla walks to the jury. "Yes; he is guilty, but is he guilty of his emotions?"

The jury shake their heads, all but one does and that is the mermaid who can only complain. Mikayla takes that as a signal to continue, "My point is, even if he broke the law, he was only acting on the emotions he couldn't handle so it isn't at all logical to lock him up for seven years. Put him on probation or something, but don't lock him up. Brady Parker is truly innocent and he is only a victim of the actions and emotions he couldn't control."

Mikayla turns to look at everyone before looking back at the jury again. "Please. Just think about it, please." Her voice is now a whisper, a plea.

The Shaman leans forward, an annoyed look on his face. "The Sasquatch offspring is not wrong."

A collective gasp comes from the crowd, and it's as if they can't believe that the Shaman is actually siding _with_ Mikayla for once, not _against_.

The Shaman gestures to the jury. "The final decision is yours."

The jury huddles together on their bench and speak in hushed tones. A few minutes later, they separate and the pirate of the group announces, "Brady Parker 's innocent. The young lad is a rapscallion fo' breakin' they law, so the lad's punishment 's gone down to two months. Also, he can't be Kin' no mo'. He can stay he o' he can go afte' his time s up. That s all." **(1)**

"This is the final statement. No objections, no changes. This court is done." The Shaman takes his gavel and hits it against his podium, giggling like a child because the action brings him so much pleasure. "Good, now I can get some sleep! Kings, no more idiotic things. I'm done with it." And with that being said, the Shaman gets up and leaves.

The crowd is in a neutral mood-not quite sure if they should be happy or upset. Some of them don't even bother; they just leave. The court is emptying quickly, people rushing off to get home because the court is too much for one night.

I don't blame them for thinking so.

Once the guards realize that it's their cue to take their prisoner, they grab my arms and force me forward.

"Wait!" A voice calls and the guards stop in their tracks. I turn my head and I'm surprised by the person who said it.

Boomer stands there, the redhead and Mikayla behind him but they aren't holding each other's hand. They don't even look at each other, let alone stand close to the other. This is odd.

Boomer's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "I'm sorry."

I don't believe a word said, so I ask, "Excuse me?"

"I said I'm sorry." Boomer's tone is not humorous at all. His face isn't devoid of emotion, either. I'm taken aback by the sympathy that is displayed in my brother's eyes, the strict and serious look on his face. His lips are a straight firm line, but the curve of the tips show that he wants to smile. The most misleading thing about him is his body posture-crossed arms and cocked hip-but I have to remember that it has always been the way Boomer stood.

I give a short and quick chuckle. "Yeah, right. Shouldn't _I_ be the one apologizing?"

"You should," Boomer agrees, "But I'm the jerk in this problem, so _I'm _the one apologizing."

I blankly stare at him and he says, "Look, Brady. I'm still mad at you for leaving and coming back without telling me, but I don't want to stay mad at you forever. I want things to be okay between us even if everything isn't. Do you forgive me?"

I think his words over for a moment. Should I forgive him or not? If I do, things will get better eventually. If I don't, there will be more bad blood between us and I don't think Boomer and I want that. So, I think of all the good that can happen, of all the peace that can come from this as I say, "I forgive you. But do you forgive me?"

Boomer smiles and this smile is genuine. He pats me on my shoulder in a brotherly manner. "Let's see when you get out of jail two months from now."

I smile back widely, stupidly. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Don't push your luck," Boomer warns, but the smile on his face proves that he's teasing me.

Someone clears their throat and Boomer and I turn to the one who did it. The redhead. He holds his hand out to me and says, "I don't think we've meet properly before. I'm Boz."

I look at his hand and laugh. Then I look at the guards that restrain my arms and back to the redhead. "Do you honestly think I can shake your hand?"

The redhead glances awkwardly at his outstretched hand and places it back at his side. "Right," he mumbles.

"I'd tell you my name, but I'm sure you already know it," I tease him. Then I think of something, "I tell you what, why don't we hang out sometime. I'd like to know you."

Boz smiles and nods vigorously, "That would be cool. I can tell you how I was raised by monkeys and grew up in the jungle! Then I can tell you about what Boomer and I have been doing since you've left. Lots of crazy adventures that we went on. It'll be awesome." He turns red in the face, embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm just so excited. It's a shame you can't be kings with Boomer and I, though. It would've been awesome to have all three of us rule together."

I shrug off his behavior, his words. "No worries, it's fine. I mean, it sucks, but I'll be fine. Besides, two kings are more than enough trouble."

"Yeah," He agrees, laughing, "Well, see you later, I guess."

With that, he and Boomer stalk off and that leaves Mikayla and me alone. Well, as alone as we can be in an empty court with guards holding me down but it'll do, I suppose.

"Hi," I say slowly.

"Hi," She says back.

We lapse into a silence until I speak up, "Does your dad still hate me?"

"What do you think?" She answers with a question.

"I think he might save skinning me tonight, but will plan a more painful demise for me much later," I joke, and it feels right. Everything is slowly turning back to the way it previously was, for better or for worse. Even I'm turning back to my goofy old self and I might just accept it.

It works and Mikayla laughs. "I don't know; you might have to ask him yourself."

"I'd rather not," I say and she laughs again.

Then she turns serious. "You should know Boz and I broke up."

I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. "I thought you loved him. Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I still love you, okay!" Mikayla cries, "I love you even though you're stupid and you do stupid things. I love you even if you were being an absolute jerk who deserves to get punched in the face for leaving!"

"I left because I didn't have what you qualified as a boyfriend." I tell her.

"Would you shut up about that? It doesn't matter." She insists. "Brady, superhero or not, genius or not, it's you who I'll always love. Why don't you realize that?"

"I didn't know." I tell her honestly. "I just thought that you were one of those girls who liked those perfect boys, with the bulging muscles and everything."

"I don't care about that," She says. "You're a screw up, a mess, and everything goes wrong with you. I'm saying that we should try out our relationship again. You know, make things better."

I sigh. Do I want to make things better between me and Mikayla? That _is_ why I came back after all. My feelings for her are still strong, and although I'm glad my love for her isn't unrequited, how can I be sure the relationship will be healthy? I guess the only way to find out is to try again.

"I don't think you'd like to have a date in the dungeon, so why don't we wait two months?" I ask. "And maybe wait a while longer after that to make sure your dad _doesn't_ strangle me."

"I'd love that." Mikayla giggles. She steps forward, plants a kiss on my cheek. "Until then, have fun in prison."

A ridiculously wide and goofy smile overtakes my lips. The guards drag me away, probably sick of how long this conversation is taking. I look back at Mikayla-smiling, brave, and beautiful Mikayla-and call after her, "Oh, I will."

Even though my punishment sucks and I really do deserve it, I realize that the next two months-or the next years of my life-won't be as bad as I think it will.

* * *

**(1) Pirate Translation:** "Brady Parker is innocent. The young lad is a rapscallion for breaking the law, so the lad's punishment has gone down to two months. Also, he can't be King anymore. He can stay here or he can go after his time is up. That is all."  
**The pirate speaks improperly because he's a pirate. You can't expect him to speak modern English, which is why he speaks so choppily. **


	10. Epilogue

**Guess who got to update early? It's extremely cheesy and not the best, but hey, it's done!**

**Thanks to those who stuck around to the end, those who reviewed and favorited, and followed, etc. This isn't the end-you'll be seeing more of me in the near future. Enjoy!**

* * *

_Ten Years Later_

You stand behind the bedroom door, waiting for the footsteps, the voices. There's muffling around down the hall and you have to bite your tongue to prevent the laugh that's threatening to leave your lips. Your hiding spot is not affective in the least bit, but for this purpose, it'll do.

You don't remember what you did to get into this situation, the reason forgotten as soon as the game began. You remember making a bet-_whoever wins get the best room in the house_-but that doesn't matter to you.

What matters to you is the voices that are getting louder, closer.

_"Why is Mommy hard to find?"_

_"She's really good."_

_"Do you think Mommy will win?"_

_"Let's hope __**we**__ win, silly."_

The voices are so very close, you can swear that they're right by you. Taking that as a cue, you slip out of your hiding spot and stand right behind the owners of the voices. You're glad their backs are to you and the lights of the room are off. The only light source of the room is the evening light streaming in through the window, but the curtains that block it only allows a little light to peek through. There's also the hallway light that they kept on, but that doesn't supply the room with much light either.

Slowly, you reach out and grab the voices' owners, having to keep your mouth shut tight from the overwhelming urge to laugh.

The voices were arguing where to look next, blaming each other for not trying hard enough, but they stop and freeze when they feel you.

_"Boo."_

Then there's a scream of terror and delight arising from the two people. They run out of the room; you following in pursuit.

Once the two reach the family room, they look at you, surprised. They are only children and you just scared the day lights out of them. You don't mind, realizing that these two beautiful and amazing children are _yours._

The little girl who is no older than five hugs your legs and begs you not to do such a thing again. She looks at you with those big, sweet, brown eyes-_her mother's eyes_-that you make the promise and mean it.

The boy who is older than the girl by two years gives you such a goofy, lopsided, grin that you return it with one of your own. You ruffle the kids' hair and hug them both close to you.

_They are yours._

You love them_ so much_, but not quite as much as a certain someone.

Speaking of that someone, you hear footsteps coming towards you and the children. But you don't worry because you know it belongs to no one other than your wife of seven years.

_Mikayla Makoola_.

She comes closer to you and the children, her face full of worry and concern. In her hand is her machete, but as soon as she realizes that the noise was caused by you three, she relaxes enough to give a tired smile.

The children groan and complain that the game is over, that there is no winner.

You and your wife exchange knowing looks. Your wife-_oh, your beautiful and wonderful wife_-declares that you all are winners, and that _you all_ deserve the best room of the house.

Even if there is no winner to the game, you've all won something tonight, might it be different prizes. You and your family retire to the biggest and most comfiest room in the entire household. The space in the bed is limited; all of you have to crowd in to prevent falling to the ground in the middle of the night. It doesn't bother you because you're with the people you love the most and sometimes, that's all that really matters.

You might not be a King living in luxury, but if this is the next best thing, it'll do.

Besides, the _memories_ you make and keep count more than _where or when or how_ you make them.


End file.
